Title: Making the Grade
By: Julexer
DISCLAIMER: "ER", the characters and situations depicted within are the property of Warner Bros. Television, Amblin Entertainment, Constant C Productions, NBC, etc. They are borrowed without permission but without the intent of infringement. The story presented here is written solely for entertainment purposes, and the author is not making a profit.
Please do not post or distribute without the disclaimer above, or without the permission of the author.
Feedback is welcome and appreciated. Write to julexer@hotmail.com
SUMMARY: Ella has a terrible secret and her parents must find out what's going on.
RATING: PG-13
Elizabeth was just finishing a routine appendectomy when Dr. Babcock motioned to her. She turned around to see Shirley. "Yes?"
"Sorry Dr. Corday, but Dr. Greene is on the phone for you from downstairs."
"All right, transfer him into my office and tell him I'll be there as soon as I've closed." She turned back to the incision. "Thank you, Shirley."
After she'd finished, she stripped off her operating garb and hurried to her office. "Mark?"
"Hi. Um, the school called, and -"
"What's wrong? Is she all right?
"Yeah, she's okay, but I guess she threw up and they want somebody to come get her, so . . ."
"Are you pretty backed up down there?"
"Yeah, it's been crazy. Flu season, you know."
"Ugh. Yes, well, I can get off to go get Ella, but I need the keys to the Acura." They had driven in together that morning after dropping Ella at school.
"Sure, sure. They're in my locker down here."
"All right. I'll let you know how she is."
"Bye."
Elizabeth followed up with a few earlier patients, then hurried down to the ER to retrieve the keys. Mark's locker was, as usual, less than conducive to finding anything, but she finally located them in the pocket of the khakis he had worn in.
Heading out to the garage, she was, as always, grateful that she'd talked Mark into finally getting rid of his atrocious van and buying a nice car. She got in and drove the twenty minutes to the school where Ella attended the fourth grade.
Her daughter was sitting miserably on a chair outside the office. Upon seeing her mother, she stood up. "Mom, I'm really not sick. I could go back to class -"
The secretary behind the counter across the hall interrupted her. "She threw up. She can't stay. It's policy."
Elizabeth was taken aback. "Ella, what -"
"I just threw up, that's all. I'm not sick. Here, feel my forehead." She grabbed Elizabeth's hand and pressed the fingers to her head.
Elizabeth looked to the secretary and saw her thin gray lips set in a line. "Ella, let's go, all right? It's okay, I believe you. You can come back tomorrow."
Defeated, her daughter bent to collect her things and followed her back out to the car, where she slumped in the passenger seat without a word.
Elizabeth headed for home. "Ella, why would you throw up if you're not sick? Is it something you ate?" Had Mark haplessly poisoned the poor kid with lunch he'd packed that morning?
"No, nothing like that." Something in her daughter's voice made Elizabeth look sharply at her, but her face was impassive, staring out the window.
"Well, then what -"
"It was nothing, okay? I just threw up, that's all."
"Ella, that doesn't -" Her beeper went off, and she reached for it.
Ella beat her to it, though. She sighed heavily and slumped even lower. "It's the hospital."
"Is it the emergency OR number?"
"Uh huh."
Elizabeth sighed, too. "Well, then, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to go in. Daddy's working too, maybe he won't be too busy."
"Yeah, right. It's flu season, remember? Is Jerry working today?"
Elizabeth laughed. "I don't know, but I did see Randi at the desk." She laughed again when Ella visibly cheered up at this news.
Later that evening, Elizabeth leaned against the back wall of the elevator and tried to conceal a yawn from the two unnaturally perky medical students she shared it with. She stepped off into the ER and almost immediately ran into Mark. "Hey!"
"Oh, hey. Done for the day?"
"Yes, thank God. Those two boys who came in here -"
"The GSW's?"
"Yes, both of them absolutely riddled with bullets. Robert and I spent hours on one; he's stable now, though."
"And the other?"
She shook her head. "How's Ella?"
"Oh, she's all right. Being corrupted by the desk clerks as usual. Ready to go home?"
"Yes, definitely," she affirmed, putting an arm around his waist as they headed for the front desk.
Their daughter was sitting behind it with Randi, both of them hunched over a spiral notebook. She looked up at her parents' approach, all green eyes and pouty lips. "Hi. Me and Randi are writing a romance novel!"
Elizabeth laughed; Mark smiled and rolled his eyes. "Does Randi know the phone is ringing?"
"What? Oh . . . sure thing, Dr. Greene." Ella came around the desk and went to the lounge with her father to get his things. They then headed out into the sharp wind to go home.
That night, after Mark and Ella had finished the dinner dishes, she headed upstairs to do her homework, a noticeably deviation from her usual routine of stalling and joking around with her dad.
Puzzled, he went to Elizabeth, who was curled up in a corner of the living room sofa with the newspaper. "Does she seem like she's acting funny?"
She looked up. "How do you mean?"
"I don't know. She's just been awful quiet these past few weeks, just not really herself."
Elizabeth sighed and closed the newspaper. "You're right. Something's bothering her. I can't get her to tell me, though."
"Yeah, she's been so secretive lately, too . . . what was this about throwing up at school?"
"For no reason at all, she claims," said Elizabeth dryly.
He shrugged and sank into the other end of the sofa, stretching his legs along its length so he was facing her. "Hey, maybe it's hormones."
Elizabeth's head whipped around. "You can't be serious," she protested. "She's not even ten!"
"Rachel got her period at ten, remember?"
She closed her eyes and tipped her head back. "Don't remind me."
He laughed. "Don't worry, I don't really think that's what it is." He laughed again at the relief that immediately flooded her face.
The following afternoon, Mark made it out of the ER just in time to catch the last few minutes of Ella's soccer practice when he picked her up. He spotted her strawberry-blond ponytail charging toward the far goal and grinned: she might seem little, all eyes and bony knees, but his daughter was fierce and fast on the field.
Her coach called a final huddle and then set the girls free. Ella came running toward him, apparently still full of energy even after school and a long practice. She was small, still narrow and mostly angles, but Mark could see the long bones of his own legs beginning to appear in hers as the covered the ground in her cleats.
"Hey, Ellie!"
"Hi, Daddy. I get to play starting forward on Saturday!"
"That's great! Mom and I will both be here for that game, too." She smiled even bigger at this news. He tugged her ponytail as they walked toward the car. "Mom won't be off until late; what do you say we go get pizza?"
"Okay."
Ella chattered on about soccer over the food. Mark was encouraged; this was the extra spark that had been missing lately. A moment later, though, it disappeared again. "How was school?" he asked, and her face fell.
"It was okay." The change in attitude was so obvious that Mark set down his pizza.
"What's wrong, Ellie? Did something happen?"
"No, it was fine. Nothing happened." But when she looked up he saw that her eyes were swimming with unshed tears. He pressed her a little more, but she maintained that everything was okay. This only heightened his concern, and he resolved to find out what was going on.
In bed that night, Mark was just about to drift off when he heard Elizabeth come in downstairs. He turned the lamp back on and rested his weight on one elbow as she came upstairs. "Oh, no, did I wake you? I'm sorry."
"No, no. I was awake." He watched her change into a T-shirt and sweats and go to brush her teeth. "You look exhausted."
She sighed, sliding gratefully under the covers beside him. "Yeah."
"Long day?"
She nodded. "I had such a difficult case. There was a little girl who came in with her father -"
"The car accident?"
"You saw them?"
"I worked on the dad. He was a mess."
"He was, I know. He crashed while we were trying to repair his liver, and then somebody had to go tell the daughter, who looked so much like Ella I could barely get through it."
They were both quiet. In the past, each of them had wondered aloud if all this shop talk was detrimental, if it would be better to avoid all mention of the hospital while away from work. Over the years, though, they had come to the conclusion that in small doses, a bit of debriefing with someone who understood the territory was reassuring for both of them.
Elizabeth looked over at Mark. "Did you manage to get off Saturday?"
"Yeah. Oh, Ella has a big game. She's starting, but pretend to be surprised if she tells you."
Elizabeth smiled. "I spoke to Carol about this summer."
"Yeah?"
"Mmm-hmm, and they're planning all sorts of fun things." She turned on her side and curled against him, a warm hand on his chest. "Oh, and Doug says to tell you that he's installed a basketball hoop in their driveway, so you should bring plenty of money because he's feeling lucky."
On Saturday, Ella appeared bright and early in the kitchen, dressed in her soccer shorts and jersey. Mark set a plate of eggs in front of her, then turned back to the stove to make another for Elizabeth. Ella turned as her mother smoothed her hair back into a ponytail. "Ready for the big game?" she asked, securing it with a blue hairband.
Her daughter nodded, clearly focused and ready to play.
Two hours later, at the field, Mark and Elizabeth stood along the sidelines in a group of parents just after the beginning of the fourth quarter. It had rained the night before and a light fog still clouded the wet field, which was churning rapidly into mud under the cleats of the players.
Ella had played nearly the entire game so far and was dominating the offense. She was quick and smooth and seemed to be able to duck out of almost any sticky encounter with the other team while retaining possession of the ball. Both of her parents were bursting with pride and couldn't stop grinning at each other. Elizabeth hadn't seen a game of Ella's since last season and she was amazed. "Mark, I had no idea she was such a star!"
He smiled, his eyes on their daughter. "I know, she's great."
Another father in a Bulls sweatshirt nudged Mark. "Hey, which one's yours?"
"The little one with the curly ponytail," he said, pointing to her just as she made a beautiful score straight into the back corner of the goal.
The sideline exploded with cheers. Elizabeth jumped in the air and Ella grinned at both of them as she trotted back into position, her cheeks flushed and her legs spattered with dark mud.
Ella finished the game with three goals to her credit and she was enveloped in hugs from her ecstatic parents as her team celebrated the victory. "Ellie, you were brilliant," Elizabeth congratulated her, kneeling to wipe some of the mud off of her face.
"What a great game, huh?" said Mark, hugging her to him, one arm around her shoulders.
Sasha, one of Ella's friends from school who had been the goalie in the first half, came up to them. "Ella, we're going out for ice cream to celebrate. Can you come?" She gestured to a group of girls and their parents over by the cars.
Ella looked at the group. "Is Jamie going?" she asked Sasha quietly, hoping her parents wouldn't hear.
The other girl nodded solemnly, and at the news Ella declined politely, saying she would see them all at school on Monday and gathering her things to go home.
Mark and Elizabeth had heard however, and exchanged worried glances although they said nothing to their now visibly deflated daughter.
Both of her parents tried to cheer Ella up all afternoon, but to no avail. To their questions about why she didn't want to celebrate with her team, they received monosyllables. Jamie was just a girl in her class, Ella said. No, they hadn't had a fight. There wasn't anything going on.
Just as they were finishing dinner, the phone rang. Ella nearly knocked over her chair in her rush to answer it, glad for the interruption of the long, uncomfortable silences and worried glances she kept getting from her parents.
"Hello? . . . Oh, hi . . . good . . . it's okay . . . I played center forward today in soccer . . . uh huh, five to three . . . you played goalie? I didn't know that. You want to talk to Dad? . . . okay . . . bye." She handed to phone to Mark. "It's Rachel."
Mark held the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he started to clear the dishes from the table. "Hey, Rach." Elizabeth rose and shooed him into the living room with the phone as she took over the dishes, enlisting the help of her reluctant daughter with a look.
"Ella, are you sure everything's all right?" she asked again, loading silverware into the dishwasher.
She rolled her eyes and sighed, exasperated. "Yeah, I'm fine, okay?"
"All right, all right." Her hands fluttered in surrender. "It's just that you're really not behaving like you're fine."
Ella rolled her eyes again, closed the dishwasher door, and headed upstairs.
When Mark came back into the kitchen, Elizabeth was sitting pensively at the bare table, her chin in her hands and her hair loose and tumbling over her shoulders. "Mark," she said. "Something is really wrong. She's never like this."
He nodded, pulling up a chair next to her. "I know. Even Rachel said she sounded funny."
"Oh? What else did she say?"
"Her new play's going well - it opens next month. She wants to know if we can come out."
"Oh, Mark, we should go! It's always fun to go to New York." Rachel's early love of dressing up and junior high plays had led to a degree in theater and what seemed to be a promising career on the New York stage.
Elizabeth sighed. "About Ella, though . . ."
"Yeah." He ran a hand over his head. "It's got to have something to do with school. She gets upset every time we bring it up."
"You're right. Maybe we should talk to her teacher. What about this girl Jamie?"
"I've never heard Ella say anything about her before. I've met her once or twice at soccer; seems like a nice enough kid."
She leaned back in her chair. "Well, whatever it is, this can't go on."
He was nodding again. "Talking to her teacher is a good idea. I'm off Tuesday, I could go in then."
"All right," she affirmed. "On Monday when I get into the office I'll call the school and try to set it up."
On Sunday night, Mark worked the graveyard shift. Elizabeth roused herself from the bed she'd slept in alone to wake her daughter for school. She sat down on the edge of the twin bed and placed a hand between Ella's shoulderblades. "Ella," she coaxed. "It's time to get up."
Ella's neck stiffened. She turned, almost writhing in protest, her face pressed firmly against the pillow. "Nnnno."
"Come on, we'll have breakfast and I'll drive you in. It's sunny outside - the rain's stopped."
Ella was never easy to get out of bed, but something about her small form under the quilts seemed even more resistant than usual. Elizabeth knelt on the floor next to Ella's head and looked into her eyes. She didn't look sleepy: her eyes were clear, not groggy at all. But Elizabeth could see that they were brimming with misery.
"Ella, please tell me what's wrong. You're not happy - maybe I can help if you tell me." She rested her chin on one arm along the edge of the bed; with the other she stroked the tangled curls, tracing the edge of the delicate hairline with her thumb.
Ella thought for a moment, caught off guard with her secret so early in the morning. Her mother could see the wheels spinning slowly in her head and she searched the small, troubled face, but then saw the familiar slight cloud cross the green of her eyes. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just tired," she evaded again, faking a big, theatrical yawn and turning on her back to face the ceiling.
Her mother sighed, getting to her feet. "All right, fine. Breakfast in ten minutes," she said shortly, heading downstairs.
The cloud over Ella's eyes melted quickly. She wanted so badly to tell, but it was all so complicated. She'd made promises, and there were other people to consider. She groaned inwardly at the thought of facing another day at school, but soon she got up, dressed, and went down for breakfast.
Elizabeth's Tuesday afternoon was not going well. Robert had insisted on scrubbing in on an emergency splenectomy she could certainly have handled herself and she'd had to endure several rounds of questioning about whether she thought the new Chief of Staff picture he'd had taken did him justice. She'd never hated the sound of the word 'Lizzie' more. She'd been called for so many consults that she'd missed lunch and had tangled with Dr. Kovac in the ER about a patient with belly pain (who had narrowly missed vomiting on her new running shoes, to boot).
She was again in the ER, looking in vain for whoever had called her down, when Mark burst out of the lounge. "Mark? What are you doing here?"
He took her elbow. "We need to talk." He steered her down the hall, so quickly that she caught only a glimpse of his face, which was set in strange, hard lines.
"What's the matter? Mark?"
"Not here." He guided her into the empty pedes room, where he pointed to a stool. Wordlessly, she sat down, gripping the edges of the seat while he paced back and forth in front of her.
"Mark -"
He took a big breath. "I went to see Ella's teacher today."
"Okay, and what did she say?"
"She gave me the usual stuff about how bright she is, how her grades are really good, a real pleasure in class, all the stuff we already know." He was wringing his hands. "She said she hadn't noticed anything strange, but that Sasha's mother had been in to talk to her about the same sort of thing."
"But -"
He cut her off. "So then I'm leaving, going down the hall, kind of frustrated. And all of a sudden here comes Ella out of the bathroom, and I swear, she was as white as a sheet."
"What? She -"
"She sees me and freezes for a second. And then she just loses it. She's going on and on about the library and Sasha and Jamie and extra credit, over and over. I'm trying to calm her down but pretty soon she was just hysterical. So I end up carrying her out to the car. Where she tells me everything."
Elizabeth regarded him silently, fear mounting in her chest.
Mark stood still, finally. "There is another teacher," he began. His voice was even but she could hear something electric humming along below its surface. "He works in the library, mostly. Ella and Sasha were in there a few weeks ago and he told them they could have extra credit, better grades, if they'd help him during lunch. So they did. Only that's not really what was going on. On the third day, he exposed himself to them."
Everything warm in her chest turned instantly to ice. Her elbows locked as she gripped the stood even harder.
He took another deep breath. "He made them touch him. When they didn't want to come to the library anymore, he followed them other places, like the bathroom." He started to pace again. "That's why she threw up last week. It was so horrible that -" some of the electricity invaded his composed tone. "The reason she wouldn't say anything is that this guy is Jamie's dad."
Elizabeth stood, her eyes down and her arms crossed over her middle. "Where is she now?"
"In the lounge, with Haleh. She's pretty calm -"
She'd turned away. "That bastard!" she spat, her voice thick and her eyes snapping.
They were both quiet, both so full of hurt for what had happened to their daughter that they couldn't yet face her.
After Ella had gone to bed that night, her parents sat up in the living room. They had formulated a plan for what to do, what steps to take with the school and the law. Ella and Sasha would not encounter the man again, and hopefully Jamie would be protected as well. However, the horror had not subsided.
"Mark. How could this have happened?" Her face was slack, tired, but her eyes were still wide and bright.
He sighed. "I dunno. She seems okay, but -"
"Have we failed her? She's just a little girl. I want her to be strong, confident. What's this going to do to her?" She drew her legs underneath her, curling deeper into the corner of the couch.
He shifted. "We're going to have to watch, but I think she'll be all right. She knows she can talk to us."
"Maybe she doesn't. Maybe we're not cutting it."
"Then we're going to have to talk to her. I think -"
A small voice interrupted them. The both looked up at Ella. "I couldn't sleep."
Elizabeth held her arms out to her daughter, who rushed gratefully into them. "Of course you couldn't. Did you have a bad dream?" Mark and Elizabeth both considered the hideous things Ella's young and active imagination might reap from this experience.
"No," she said, and they were both relieved.
"Come sit with us, Ellie," said her mother. Ella climbed onto the sofa, curled with her knees against her chest and her head in Elizabeth's lap.
Elizabeth smoothed the fine curls behind Ella's ear. She traced the bird-like collarbones resting against her knee and searched the pale cheeks for tears as her daughter's brow relaxed into sleep. But they were dry. There might be bad dreams later, but for now, she was safe, and none came.
THE END
By: Julexer
DISCLAIMER: "ER", the characters and situations depicted within are the property of Warner Bros. Television, Amblin Entertainment, Constant C Productions, NBC, etc. They are borrowed without permission but without the intent of infringement. The story presented here is written solely for entertainment purposes, and the author is not making a profit.
Please do not post or distribute without the disclaimer above, or without the permission of the author.
Feedback is welcome and appreciated. Write to julexer@hotmail.com
SUMMARY: Ella has a terrible secret and her parents must find out what's going on.
RATING: PG-13
Elizabeth was just finishing a routine appendectomy when Dr. Babcock motioned to her. She turned around to see Shirley. "Yes?"
"Sorry Dr. Corday, but Dr. Greene is on the phone for you from downstairs."
"All right, transfer him into my office and tell him I'll be there as soon as I've closed." She turned back to the incision. "Thank you, Shirley."
After she'd finished, she stripped off her operating garb and hurried to her office. "Mark?"
"Hi. Um, the school called, and -"
"What's wrong? Is she all right?
"Yeah, she's okay, but I guess she threw up and they want somebody to come get her, so . . ."
"Are you pretty backed up down there?"
"Yeah, it's been crazy. Flu season, you know."
"Ugh. Yes, well, I can get off to go get Ella, but I need the keys to the Acura." They had driven in together that morning after dropping Ella at school.
"Sure, sure. They're in my locker down here."
"All right. I'll let you know how she is."
"Bye."
Elizabeth followed up with a few earlier patients, then hurried down to the ER to retrieve the keys. Mark's locker was, as usual, less than conducive to finding anything, but she finally located them in the pocket of the khakis he had worn in.
Heading out to the garage, she was, as always, grateful that she'd talked Mark into finally getting rid of his atrocious van and buying a nice car. She got in and drove the twenty minutes to the school where Ella attended the fourth grade.
Her daughter was sitting miserably on a chair outside the office. Upon seeing her mother, she stood up. "Mom, I'm really not sick. I could go back to class -"
The secretary behind the counter across the hall interrupted her. "She threw up. She can't stay. It's policy."
Elizabeth was taken aback. "Ella, what -"
"I just threw up, that's all. I'm not sick. Here, feel my forehead." She grabbed Elizabeth's hand and pressed the fingers to her head.
Elizabeth looked to the secretary and saw her thin gray lips set in a line. "Ella, let's go, all right? It's okay, I believe you. You can come back tomorrow."
Defeated, her daughter bent to collect her things and followed her back out to the car, where she slumped in the passenger seat without a word.
Elizabeth headed for home. "Ella, why would you throw up if you're not sick? Is it something you ate?" Had Mark haplessly poisoned the poor kid with lunch he'd packed that morning?
"No, nothing like that." Something in her daughter's voice made Elizabeth look sharply at her, but her face was impassive, staring out the window.
"Well, then what -"
"It was nothing, okay? I just threw up, that's all."
"Ella, that doesn't -" Her beeper went off, and she reached for it.
Ella beat her to it, though. She sighed heavily and slumped even lower. "It's the hospital."
"Is it the emergency OR number?"
"Uh huh."
Elizabeth sighed, too. "Well, then, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to go in. Daddy's working too, maybe he won't be too busy."
"Yeah, right. It's flu season, remember? Is Jerry working today?"
Elizabeth laughed. "I don't know, but I did see Randi at the desk." She laughed again when Ella visibly cheered up at this news.
Later that evening, Elizabeth leaned against the back wall of the elevator and tried to conceal a yawn from the two unnaturally perky medical students she shared it with. She stepped off into the ER and almost immediately ran into Mark. "Hey!"
"Oh, hey. Done for the day?"
"Yes, thank God. Those two boys who came in here -"
"The GSW's?"
"Yes, both of them absolutely riddled with bullets. Robert and I spent hours on one; he's stable now, though."
"And the other?"
She shook her head. "How's Ella?"
"Oh, she's all right. Being corrupted by the desk clerks as usual. Ready to go home?"
"Yes, definitely," she affirmed, putting an arm around his waist as they headed for the front desk.
Their daughter was sitting behind it with Randi, both of them hunched over a spiral notebook. She looked up at her parents' approach, all green eyes and pouty lips. "Hi. Me and Randi are writing a romance novel!"
Elizabeth laughed; Mark smiled and rolled his eyes. "Does Randi know the phone is ringing?"
"What? Oh . . . sure thing, Dr. Greene." Ella came around the desk and went to the lounge with her father to get his things. They then headed out into the sharp wind to go home.
That night, after Mark and Ella had finished the dinner dishes, she headed upstairs to do her homework, a noticeably deviation from her usual routine of stalling and joking around with her dad.
Puzzled, he went to Elizabeth, who was curled up in a corner of the living room sofa with the newspaper. "Does she seem like she's acting funny?"
She looked up. "How do you mean?"
"I don't know. She's just been awful quiet these past few weeks, just not really herself."
Elizabeth sighed and closed the newspaper. "You're right. Something's bothering her. I can't get her to tell me, though."
"Yeah, she's been so secretive lately, too . . . what was this about throwing up at school?"
"For no reason at all, she claims," said Elizabeth dryly.
He shrugged and sank into the other end of the sofa, stretching his legs along its length so he was facing her. "Hey, maybe it's hormones."
Elizabeth's head whipped around. "You can't be serious," she protested. "She's not even ten!"
"Rachel got her period at ten, remember?"
She closed her eyes and tipped her head back. "Don't remind me."
He laughed. "Don't worry, I don't really think that's what it is." He laughed again at the relief that immediately flooded her face.
The following afternoon, Mark made it out of the ER just in time to catch the last few minutes of Ella's soccer practice when he picked her up. He spotted her strawberry-blond ponytail charging toward the far goal and grinned: she might seem little, all eyes and bony knees, but his daughter was fierce and fast on the field.
Her coach called a final huddle and then set the girls free. Ella came running toward him, apparently still full of energy even after school and a long practice. She was small, still narrow and mostly angles, but Mark could see the long bones of his own legs beginning to appear in hers as the covered the ground in her cleats.
"Hey, Ellie!"
"Hi, Daddy. I get to play starting forward on Saturday!"
"That's great! Mom and I will both be here for that game, too." She smiled even bigger at this news. He tugged her ponytail as they walked toward the car. "Mom won't be off until late; what do you say we go get pizza?"
"Okay."
Ella chattered on about soccer over the food. Mark was encouraged; this was the extra spark that had been missing lately. A moment later, though, it disappeared again. "How was school?" he asked, and her face fell.
"It was okay." The change in attitude was so obvious that Mark set down his pizza.
"What's wrong, Ellie? Did something happen?"
"No, it was fine. Nothing happened." But when she looked up he saw that her eyes were swimming with unshed tears. He pressed her a little more, but she maintained that everything was okay. This only heightened his concern, and he resolved to find out what was going on.
In bed that night, Mark was just about to drift off when he heard Elizabeth come in downstairs. He turned the lamp back on and rested his weight on one elbow as she came upstairs. "Oh, no, did I wake you? I'm sorry."
"No, no. I was awake." He watched her change into a T-shirt and sweats and go to brush her teeth. "You look exhausted."
She sighed, sliding gratefully under the covers beside him. "Yeah."
"Long day?"
She nodded. "I had such a difficult case. There was a little girl who came in with her father -"
"The car accident?"
"You saw them?"
"I worked on the dad. He was a mess."
"He was, I know. He crashed while we were trying to repair his liver, and then somebody had to go tell the daughter, who looked so much like Ella I could barely get through it."
They were both quiet. In the past, each of them had wondered aloud if all this shop talk was detrimental, if it would be better to avoid all mention of the hospital while away from work. Over the years, though, they had come to the conclusion that in small doses, a bit of debriefing with someone who understood the territory was reassuring for both of them.
Elizabeth looked over at Mark. "Did you manage to get off Saturday?"
"Yeah. Oh, Ella has a big game. She's starting, but pretend to be surprised if she tells you."
Elizabeth smiled. "I spoke to Carol about this summer."
"Yeah?"
"Mmm-hmm, and they're planning all sorts of fun things." She turned on her side and curled against him, a warm hand on his chest. "Oh, and Doug says to tell you that he's installed a basketball hoop in their driveway, so you should bring plenty of money because he's feeling lucky."
On Saturday, Ella appeared bright and early in the kitchen, dressed in her soccer shorts and jersey. Mark set a plate of eggs in front of her, then turned back to the stove to make another for Elizabeth. Ella turned as her mother smoothed her hair back into a ponytail. "Ready for the big game?" she asked, securing it with a blue hairband.
Her daughter nodded, clearly focused and ready to play.
Two hours later, at the field, Mark and Elizabeth stood along the sidelines in a group of parents just after the beginning of the fourth quarter. It had rained the night before and a light fog still clouded the wet field, which was churning rapidly into mud under the cleats of the players.
Ella had played nearly the entire game so far and was dominating the offense. She was quick and smooth and seemed to be able to duck out of almost any sticky encounter with the other team while retaining possession of the ball. Both of her parents were bursting with pride and couldn't stop grinning at each other. Elizabeth hadn't seen a game of Ella's since last season and she was amazed. "Mark, I had no idea she was such a star!"
He smiled, his eyes on their daughter. "I know, she's great."
Another father in a Bulls sweatshirt nudged Mark. "Hey, which one's yours?"
"The little one with the curly ponytail," he said, pointing to her just as she made a beautiful score straight into the back corner of the goal.
The sideline exploded with cheers. Elizabeth jumped in the air and Ella grinned at both of them as she trotted back into position, her cheeks flushed and her legs spattered with dark mud.
Ella finished the game with three goals to her credit and she was enveloped in hugs from her ecstatic parents as her team celebrated the victory. "Ellie, you were brilliant," Elizabeth congratulated her, kneeling to wipe some of the mud off of her face.
"What a great game, huh?" said Mark, hugging her to him, one arm around her shoulders.
Sasha, one of Ella's friends from school who had been the goalie in the first half, came up to them. "Ella, we're going out for ice cream to celebrate. Can you come?" She gestured to a group of girls and their parents over by the cars.
Ella looked at the group. "Is Jamie going?" she asked Sasha quietly, hoping her parents wouldn't hear.
The other girl nodded solemnly, and at the news Ella declined politely, saying she would see them all at school on Monday and gathering her things to go home.
Mark and Elizabeth had heard however, and exchanged worried glances although they said nothing to their now visibly deflated daughter.
Both of her parents tried to cheer Ella up all afternoon, but to no avail. To their questions about why she didn't want to celebrate with her team, they received monosyllables. Jamie was just a girl in her class, Ella said. No, they hadn't had a fight. There wasn't anything going on.
Just as they were finishing dinner, the phone rang. Ella nearly knocked over her chair in her rush to answer it, glad for the interruption of the long, uncomfortable silences and worried glances she kept getting from her parents.
"Hello? . . . Oh, hi . . . good . . . it's okay . . . I played center forward today in soccer . . . uh huh, five to three . . . you played goalie? I didn't know that. You want to talk to Dad? . . . okay . . . bye." She handed to phone to Mark. "It's Rachel."
Mark held the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he started to clear the dishes from the table. "Hey, Rach." Elizabeth rose and shooed him into the living room with the phone as she took over the dishes, enlisting the help of her reluctant daughter with a look.
"Ella, are you sure everything's all right?" she asked again, loading silverware into the dishwasher.
She rolled her eyes and sighed, exasperated. "Yeah, I'm fine, okay?"
"All right, all right." Her hands fluttered in surrender. "It's just that you're really not behaving like you're fine."
Ella rolled her eyes again, closed the dishwasher door, and headed upstairs.
When Mark came back into the kitchen, Elizabeth was sitting pensively at the bare table, her chin in her hands and her hair loose and tumbling over her shoulders. "Mark," she said. "Something is really wrong. She's never like this."
He nodded, pulling up a chair next to her. "I know. Even Rachel said she sounded funny."
"Oh? What else did she say?"
"Her new play's going well - it opens next month. She wants to know if we can come out."
"Oh, Mark, we should go! It's always fun to go to New York." Rachel's early love of dressing up and junior high plays had led to a degree in theater and what seemed to be a promising career on the New York stage.
Elizabeth sighed. "About Ella, though . . ."
"Yeah." He ran a hand over his head. "It's got to have something to do with school. She gets upset every time we bring it up."
"You're right. Maybe we should talk to her teacher. What about this girl Jamie?"
"I've never heard Ella say anything about her before. I've met her once or twice at soccer; seems like a nice enough kid."
She leaned back in her chair. "Well, whatever it is, this can't go on."
He was nodding again. "Talking to her teacher is a good idea. I'm off Tuesday, I could go in then."
"All right," she affirmed. "On Monday when I get into the office I'll call the school and try to set it up."
On Sunday night, Mark worked the graveyard shift. Elizabeth roused herself from the bed she'd slept in alone to wake her daughter for school. She sat down on the edge of the twin bed and placed a hand between Ella's shoulderblades. "Ella," she coaxed. "It's time to get up."
Ella's neck stiffened. She turned, almost writhing in protest, her face pressed firmly against the pillow. "Nnnno."
"Come on, we'll have breakfast and I'll drive you in. It's sunny outside - the rain's stopped."
Ella was never easy to get out of bed, but something about her small form under the quilts seemed even more resistant than usual. Elizabeth knelt on the floor next to Ella's head and looked into her eyes. She didn't look sleepy: her eyes were clear, not groggy at all. But Elizabeth could see that they were brimming with misery.
"Ella, please tell me what's wrong. You're not happy - maybe I can help if you tell me." She rested her chin on one arm along the edge of the bed; with the other she stroked the tangled curls, tracing the edge of the delicate hairline with her thumb.
Ella thought for a moment, caught off guard with her secret so early in the morning. Her mother could see the wheels spinning slowly in her head and she searched the small, troubled face, but then saw the familiar slight cloud cross the green of her eyes. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just tired," she evaded again, faking a big, theatrical yawn and turning on her back to face the ceiling.
Her mother sighed, getting to her feet. "All right, fine. Breakfast in ten minutes," she said shortly, heading downstairs.
The cloud over Ella's eyes melted quickly. She wanted so badly to tell, but it was all so complicated. She'd made promises, and there were other people to consider. She groaned inwardly at the thought of facing another day at school, but soon she got up, dressed, and went down for breakfast.
Elizabeth's Tuesday afternoon was not going well. Robert had insisted on scrubbing in on an emergency splenectomy she could certainly have handled herself and she'd had to endure several rounds of questioning about whether she thought the new Chief of Staff picture he'd had taken did him justice. She'd never hated the sound of the word 'Lizzie' more. She'd been called for so many consults that she'd missed lunch and had tangled with Dr. Kovac in the ER about a patient with belly pain (who had narrowly missed vomiting on her new running shoes, to boot).
She was again in the ER, looking in vain for whoever had called her down, when Mark burst out of the lounge. "Mark? What are you doing here?"
He took her elbow. "We need to talk." He steered her down the hall, so quickly that she caught only a glimpse of his face, which was set in strange, hard lines.
"What's the matter? Mark?"
"Not here." He guided her into the empty pedes room, where he pointed to a stool. Wordlessly, she sat down, gripping the edges of the seat while he paced back and forth in front of her.
"Mark -"
He took a big breath. "I went to see Ella's teacher today."
"Okay, and what did she say?"
"She gave me the usual stuff about how bright she is, how her grades are really good, a real pleasure in class, all the stuff we already know." He was wringing his hands. "She said she hadn't noticed anything strange, but that Sasha's mother had been in to talk to her about the same sort of thing."
"But -"
He cut her off. "So then I'm leaving, going down the hall, kind of frustrated. And all of a sudden here comes Ella out of the bathroom, and I swear, she was as white as a sheet."
"What? She -"
"She sees me and freezes for a second. And then she just loses it. She's going on and on about the library and Sasha and Jamie and extra credit, over and over. I'm trying to calm her down but pretty soon she was just hysterical. So I end up carrying her out to the car. Where she tells me everything."
Elizabeth regarded him silently, fear mounting in her chest.
Mark stood still, finally. "There is another teacher," he began. His voice was even but she could hear something electric humming along below its surface. "He works in the library, mostly. Ella and Sasha were in there a few weeks ago and he told them they could have extra credit, better grades, if they'd help him during lunch. So they did. Only that's not really what was going on. On the third day, he exposed himself to them."
Everything warm in her chest turned instantly to ice. Her elbows locked as she gripped the stood even harder.
He took another deep breath. "He made them touch him. When they didn't want to come to the library anymore, he followed them other places, like the bathroom." He started to pace again. "That's why she threw up last week. It was so horrible that -" some of the electricity invaded his composed tone. "The reason she wouldn't say anything is that this guy is Jamie's dad."
Elizabeth stood, her eyes down and her arms crossed over her middle. "Where is she now?"
"In the lounge, with Haleh. She's pretty calm -"
She'd turned away. "That bastard!" she spat, her voice thick and her eyes snapping.
They were both quiet, both so full of hurt for what had happened to their daughter that they couldn't yet face her.
After Ella had gone to bed that night, her parents sat up in the living room. They had formulated a plan for what to do, what steps to take with the school and the law. Ella and Sasha would not encounter the man again, and hopefully Jamie would be protected as well. However, the horror had not subsided.
"Mark. How could this have happened?" Her face was slack, tired, but her eyes were still wide and bright.
He sighed. "I dunno. She seems okay, but -"
"Have we failed her? She's just a little girl. I want her to be strong, confident. What's this going to do to her?" She drew her legs underneath her, curling deeper into the corner of the couch.
He shifted. "We're going to have to watch, but I think she'll be all right. She knows she can talk to us."
"Maybe she doesn't. Maybe we're not cutting it."
"Then we're going to have to talk to her. I think -"
A small voice interrupted them. The both looked up at Ella. "I couldn't sleep."
Elizabeth held her arms out to her daughter, who rushed gratefully into them. "Of course you couldn't. Did you have a bad dream?" Mark and Elizabeth both considered the hideous things Ella's young and active imagination might reap from this experience.
"No," she said, and they were both relieved.
"Come sit with us, Ellie," said her mother. Ella climbed onto the sofa, curled with her knees against her chest and her head in Elizabeth's lap.
Elizabeth smoothed the fine curls behind Ella's ear. She traced the bird-like collarbones resting against her knee and searched the pale cheeks for tears as her daughter's brow relaxed into sleep. But they were dry. There might be bad dreams later, but for now, she was safe, and none came.
THE END